The Only Answer
by Esca Madeline
Summary: Steroids had been Max's only answer. There is a slashy sequel to this story, which is found in my profile.


Disclaimer: Bully is owned by Rockstar.

A/N: This drabble is for the boys in blue who get no love—the Prefects! By the way, Wikipedia's wrong. I stalked both Edward (the Preppie prefect with glasses) and Max during the game, and only Max mentioned that he wanted to be a police officer/army man.

I think that Max and Karl used to be Non-clique students. They don't fit into any category, and I'm sure that you had to be SMART and strong in order to be a Prefect. Seth on the other hand…I think he was a Nerd who somehow gained a lot of strength before he became a Prefect. Honestly, he _talks _like a Nerd. Who in their right mind calls another person, "Evildoer," unless they were some comic book junkie in their childhood?

This takes place just before and during the "Halloween" portion of the game.

**Episode: The Only Answer**

He slowly inserted the needle into his arm, biting the inside of his cheek as he did so.

It was always a painful experience; Max MacTavish knew this from years of self-practice. Each time he did this, each time he shot milligrams of growth hormones into his bloodstream, he always felt as if he would scream, as if his body would reject the foreign liquid and reduce him to a pathetic, sniveling wretch upon the floor. The hellfire sensation would only last for half an hour or so, but each episode would leave him feeling spent, vulnerable, and useless.

Bah! Damn those who said that the human skin gets thicker after every injection—every shot hurt like hell, each one more so than the last.

He pulled the syringe out quickly, placing the rubber stopper back onto the needle point. Rubbing the spot on his arm where the needle had pricked, he looked around his room until he spotted a small piece of white cloth, and wrapped it tightly around the syringe until it looked completely inconspicuous.

Tomorrow he would pay a little visit to the boiler room, and "check" on the school furnace.

He sighed, and sat down on the edge of his bed, still rubbing his arm. He heard the loud laughter of the younger boys as they ran around the dorm, heard various voices ask their friends what they were going to dress as for Halloween, what sorts of pranks they were going to play on the teachers, what sexy outfits the girls might try on for the annual festivities…

_Ugh. Stupid little perverts._

Normally he would have gone out of his room immediately to try to bust those would-be troublemakers, but today he found himself surprisingly indifferent to their plots. Instead, he lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he tried to ignore the trembling in his arm.

He had to get his body regulated as soon as possible. Later that night he had to attend a party.

It wasn't that he _wanted_ to go to this little gala, but Edward had insisted that all the prefects go. "Daddy wants only the most worthy of my friends to attend," Edward said, his lips curving into a smug little smile. "It's a quaint little costume party, but all the people he invited are known for their commendable connections, so consider this a time for high-class interaction…and _opportunities_."

Max snorted into his pillow at the memory. While Karl had seemed interested, Max couldn't have cared less. He wasn't one for "high-class interactions." As a future police officer (or so he hoped), he wasn't supposed to be on the lookout for specific types of classes. A man of law defends all and prosecutes all, no matter what their social standing. He thought that Seth would share this opinion, but—

"AGH!" Max cried out as his arm began to tremble violently. He held down the jerking limb and bit his lip, trying not to scream as sudden, hot pain shot through his heart. _This is normal_, he told himself. _I've done this before. This isn't anything new! Oh god, this HURTS!_

"MacTavish!"

Max forced his eyes open—shit, that was Karl at the door! The doorknob to his room rattled loudly, and he heard the black boy yell from the other side, "MacTavish! I heard yelling in there! What's going on?"

Despite the fact that Karl never addressed Max by anything more than his last name, there was genuine worry in the other boy's voice. Max choked back a scream as he lifted his head from the pillow and said in a painfully calm voice, "I'm okay Karl! I'm just...taking care of some—some business!" He stopped talking when he lost feeling in his arm.

_Please go away, Branting! Please go away!_

"Business? What on earth do you mean? _Oh_."

Through the trembles, Max managed to smile. He could practically _see_ Karl's face through the other side of the door as the dark-skinned boy tried to interpret what _business_ meant. "Oh good lord," Karl muttered. "I'll leave you alone then. I'll meet you and Kolbe at Seymour's party. Be there by six o'clock exactly. And wash your hands before you get there, please."

"Yeah…whatever!" Max gasped out, barely managing to keep his voice even as the sounds of Karl's footsteps slowly faded away. He then collapsed back onto his pillow and bit right through the soft material, taking in a mouthful of cloth and fluff as his heart began to _burn_ from the drugs.

_Wash your hands…ha! Karl, you are one sick son-of-bitch sometimes!_

Though he was literally going through hell right now, this pain _wasn't_ surprising to him. The steroids he had inserted into his bloodstream were one of the new drugs, hormones that haven't been officially tested yet, and would pass undetected through any blood or urine test. He had researched this himself, and he was positive that no one would find out.

No one _could_ find out. Not even the other prefects knew that his strength was artificial.

But still…he hadn't wanted this when he was younger.

* * *

He had been a small boy back then, dumped at Bullworth by his parents who made it clear to him at a very young age that they wanted him out of their lives as soon as possible. Though the academy normally didn't take students under the age of nine, they usually an exception every now and then. (Pedro de la Hoya was one of the more recent examples, the poor kid.)

And then his hell began.

Damn the Bullies. Even to this very day, he hated the Bullies with a passion. Though Russell Northrop hadn't yet entered the academy all those years ago, the leader of the Bullies back then had been just as bad. Rudy Mason, a large, hulking idiot who was the champion wrestler at Bullworth, had targeted him as a practice dummy for his "new techniques" from the minute their eyes met.

Thus it came forth that at the tender age of seven, Max had been introduced to the pains of wedgies, noogies, powerbombs, sidekicks, backhand slaps, and every other fighting move known to mankind. It was horrible—during his first month, he had visited the infirmary at least ten times.

The old prefects had tried to assist him, but they were never around when Mason was _actually_ beating him up. Max had once tried to squeal, but Mason had only received a detention for his actions, and had then beaten Max even harder for snitching. Crabblesnitch had only been a teacher back then, so he wasn't much help. There seemed to be no way out…

* * *

"Mmph! Mmmmmph!" The springs on his bed creaked and groaned as his body shook wildly on the mattress. Muffled screams echoed through the room, but no one heard them.

_You're an abuser, _his mind hissed coldly. _Abusers can develop a bacterial illness that causes a potentially fatal inflammation of the inner lining of the heart…_

He tried to think about something else, _anything_ else.

* * *

He remembered that day, when Mason had chased him all the way to the library. He remembered falling flat on his face, as he tripped over the set of stone stairs that were in front of the building. He remembered breaking his nose as a booted foot stomped on the back of his head, smashing his face into the ground. He remembered being dragged towards the back of the library, where no one would see him getting attacked. He remembered being thrown to the ground, and that he cowered pitifully as Mason towered over him.

He then remembered the sound of glass breaking, and a disgustingly strong stench smacking him right in the nostrils.

"SHIT!" Mason yelled, as large, billowing clouds of odoriferous green gas encased his body. Max remembered that he tried to scramble away, his eyes tearing from the gas as he covered his nose while trying to make his not-so-extravagant escape. Suddenly, his arm was grabbed roughly and he was again dragged away from the green fumes, though towards where he didn't know. His eyes were still too teary for him to see clearly.

A door opened, and the air had become pleasantly cool. Max had slowly noticed the smell of old books as a wet cloth was pressed against his eyes and nose.

"Sorry about the stink bomb," a slightly nasal voice had whispered quietly. "I was trying to hit the Bully. You okay?"

Max remembered taking off the wet rag, his vision slowly returning. He remembered blinking for a moment, before he found himself staring at a small boy his own age, a boy with a buzz cut who was wearing a green Astronomy vest, while wearing a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles. The boy smiled at him, a purely friendly gesture, which Max immediately grasped onto.

The boy had asked him a few more questions, making sure that Max wasn't hiding any injuries, before he introduced himself as Seth Kolbe. He then took Max to the infirmary, holding another stink bomb in his hand should Mason try to attack again.

* * *

"Oh…oh god…" The shakings began to subside, and the fire in his heart began to cool down…slightly. Max gripped the bed sheets as he forced himself to breathe deeply.

* * *

They had become friends after that. Though Seth was considered to be a Nerd in his early years, Max didn't mind, seeing as he wasn't part of any clique himself. They did everything that little boys their age _should_ have done, like reading comic books until two o'clock in the morning. Eating junk food until they felt that they were about to burst (though the cafeteria food at the time hadn't been too bad—the chef before Edna had been this old man called Emil Cozzamara). Sneaking into the Girls' Dorm and going through their underwear, wondering with pre-pubescent minds as to what purpose the bras served.

Those were the days. Those were the days where Max felt as if nothing mattered, that _no one_ mattered, except for him and Seth. He would have been happy to leave things at that.

And then Seth came back to the dorm one night, his clothes torn and disheveled, his face bloody and bruised.

Mason had beaten him, along with other, unmentionable things.

There had been no witnesses. Even the other Bullies didn't know the true extent as to what Mason had done to Seth, but Max knew—or he thought he did. He coaxed Seth, pleaded with the other boy to tell him what happened as he slowly tried to tend to his friend's injuries. But Seth would have none of it, and turned him away.

They had been around twelve then. It was also at this time that Karl and Edward had entered the academy, Edward almost immediately joining the Preps due to his "high heritage." Karl was the son of the governor and could have easily joined the Preps as well, but instead the boy chose to linger in the background, staying away from any particular group as Max had done.

The two had become "acquaintances," as Karl put it, and got along fairly well. However, Max preferred Seth's company.

Too bad that Seth's company was dwindling! The boy no longer haunted the library after classes. In fact, he was rarely seen around the school at all. Through conversations with the other Nerds, Max had learned that Seth had quit the Grottos and Gremlins club, no longer hung around the comic book store, and had developed a rather bitter, nasty temper with all of them, constantly threatening to beat them up if they got too near him. Max saw very little of Seth for months, until finally he was given a clue by one of the Nerds.

"I heard from the Jocks that he's hanging out at the gym at Old Bullworth Vale," whispered Kit Bassinet, one of the female Nerds. "He's become really angry at everyone. You're his friend…can you talk to him?"

Max had agreed, if only for the sake of his best friend. However, he had persuaded Karl to come along too, because Max had never been to Old Bullworth Vale before and trembled at the idea of going into unfamiliar territory by himself. Karl had agreed, but only because he wanted to see the gym.

They had found Seth at the boxing club, brutally punching away at a bag. Though Karl had been impressed at how strong Seth's punches seemed to be, Max had been more stunned at how much his friend had physically changed.

Gone was the lanky form and soft-as-pudding baby fat. All that had been replaced by a hard body, which showed developing muscles that would eventually become equivalent to those of professional fighters. But there was something else—Seth's glasses were gone, his eyes now covered with contacts, and the smile that was on his face was not the one Max remembered.

It was hard, mean, and spiteful. There was no hint of friendliness, no hint of the seven-year-old boy who had once saved him from Mason.

Next to him was that Preppie boy, Edward. The rich kid seemed to like Seth's vigorous fighting style, and Max overheard him asking Seth to partake in a little bet that was going around about who was the best boxer in the club. Karl, who was into professional fighting himself, became interested and walked over to the two, asking if he could also join in.

Max found himself alone and left out.

* * *

The shakings finally stopped, and the pain fully subsided from his heart. Max spat out the mouthful of pillow and turned himself right side up on the bed, sweat coating his entire frame. He laid there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the rapid heartbeat in his chest as his body finally regulated back its regular pattern.

He looked at his arm. It seemed a bit more muscular than before.

* * *

Steroids had been the answer.

It had been the _only_ answer. He had tried to join in on the boxing, but truth be told, he honestly sucked. He always put the wrong glove on the wrong hand. He couldn't jab at an opponent properly. His uppercuts always lacked punch, and if by some miracle he actually managed to _hit_ someone, they would recover in less than half a second and knock him out with a one-two combination.

"Geez, MacTavish!" Edward had remarked, laughing rather unkindly. "You're pathetic!"

Karl gave no opinion on the matter, but Max could see that the black boy was rather disappointed at his inability to fight. Seth looked very cross and frustrated, and had even asked him one day why he was there. "You don't belong here," Seth had growled, his voice still a bit nasal even after he had hit puberty. "You're not meant to fight. Just let me handle all the rough stuff, okay? I'm gonna make ALL of the evildoers pay, on both our behalves."

"Why?" Max asked, hurt at Seth's rejection of him and embarrassed at his own failure to gain strength. "We're friends. We're supposed to do this together. We can fight those assholes together!"

Seth's eyes had narrowed. Then, before Max knew it, he had heard the words. "You're a weakling," Seth had whispered cruelly. "You can't defend yourself. You know it, and I know it. There's no point in playing pretend." Seth had turned his back to Max and walked back into the ring. He never looked back once.

That night, Max had researched the types of growth hormones that were available, the types that were undetectable even by federal tests. It had been the first time he had injected the needle into his arm.

* * *

He came out of the shower, a white towel wrapped firmly around his waist as he stepped out of his private bathroom.

Being a prefect did have its perks. A private shower was _totally_ worth having to patrol the school grounds all day.

He grabbed his Halloween costume from the bed, a police uniform he had borrowed from his father. His old man had once been the Chief of the force, and had been one of the best policemen known to Bullworth. Too bad he got hit with an early case of Alzheimer's. Max slipped on the shirt and pants, adjusting the badge on his shirt and the hat on his head before he looked in the mirror for a last check.

Damn, he looked good.

He heard a series of knocks on his door. One rap, then two, then one again.

Seth.

Max opened the door, and saw Seth standing outside his door, wearing what appeared to be a samurai outfit, complete with katana and smart-looking samurai armor. As he and Seth gave each other brief up-and-down stares, Max caught Ethan Robinson, one of the younger Bullies, walking past Seth, muttering something about how ninjas were cooler.

For a moment, the prefects stared at one another.

Then, Seth broke the silence. "I'm not sure we should go tonight. Russell Northrop and his gang seem a little too festive. They've even put on masks of Edna as their costumes!" Seth crossed his strong arms and growled. "Those lousy evildoers."

Here Max found the strength to smile. "We should go anyway. Crabblesnitch said that we have the night off, and Seymour's gonna get pissed off if we don't show up."

"Feh. I should just beat him up! That'll clear his mind."

Max frowned. "You know, maybe you should take anger management classes. I heard some of the students complain that you're a bit too rough with them."

"You got a problem with how I do my job, MacTavish?" Seth snapped, his eyes narrowing. Max immediately put up his hands as a pacifying gesture.

"N-no! I just…I worry about you, that's all. We _are _friends."

Seth snorted. "Whatever. And I don't need anger management. It's overrated anyway. The best way to relieve stress is by beating people! You should try it yourself," he added, giving a sideways look at Max. "It's very relaxing, to see someone squirm. I love giving those scoundrels a taste of their own medicine…"

"We should go," Max interrupted, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. "We're going to be late."

"Heh. Whatever you say, Max."

And then, Seth gave him a smile. A real smile. And just then, just for a moment, Max saw the seven-year-old boy he had become friends with, the boy who he had read dorky comic books with under the covers late at night while they stuffed Twinkies down their throats, and swapped information about which girls seemed to like them the most.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came from the other side of the dorm, followed by a cry from one of the little kids. Seth's face immediately hardened, and the seven-year-old side of him vanished, replaced by that of a vengeful, unforgiving seventeen-year-old.

Seth ran off to where the commotion was, leaving Max alone.

* * *

**Oh…I don't know if that's really the reaction one gets from taking steroids, but it makes it all the more dramatic, right? Besides, it was "untested" steroids, anyway.**

**So…ahem. Read and review.**


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